Shield of Winter

Chapter 45

World financial markets fell steeply overnight, and the trend shows no signs of reversing itself.

The San Francisco Gazette

“THANKS FOR MEETING me so early,” Sascha said to Alice as they walked in the area immediately outside the SnowDancer den. It was empty, the little ones still asleep, and the unbroken span of fresh snow sparkling under the dawn was both excruciatingly beautiful and too quiet. This place was meant for forts and snowball fights and wolf pups pouncing on one another in rough-and-tumble play.

“It was no hardship,” Alice answered, tugging the ends of her royal blue sweater-tunic over her hands. “I tend to wake early to watch the sunrise.” She drew in a breath of the chilly mountain air, the sun not yet high enough to burn off the mist that licked the woods in front of them. “Before . . . this, I always lived in cities. I visited my parents in distant corners of the planet—Egypt, Peru, China—but I always returned to the university.”

“Do you miss being in a city?”

“A little, but it’s a kind of faded missing. A sepia-toned photograph that tells me nothing would be the same.”

The two of them wandered into the trees, boots leaving distinctive imprints on the snow.

“I’ve been watching news reports on the outbreaks.”

“The more the Net degrades,” Sascha said, her mind full of the heartbreaking images on the news this morning, “the worse the fallout—for everyone, not just the Psy.” All major cities had an entwined population—human, Psy, and changeling residents living next to each other, often in the same buildings. The infected didn’t discriminate when it came to their victims . . . even when the victims were too tiny to fight back.

Sascha had woken Naya after she’d understood the true horror of what had occurred in the night darkness. She’d held her sweet baby, warm and alive and safe in her arms, and she’d cried for the parents who had become monsters through no choice of their own and for the innocents who’d been butchered, Lucas’s own arms tight around them both.

Swallowing the renewed knot in her throat, she said, “A lot of the first responders were taken out by psychic strikes during the outbreaks, even with Krychek’s team doing everything it can to round up Psy capable of shielding others.”

“I’ve been reading my own book in an effort to jog my memory.” Alice ran her gloved fingers over icicles dripping from a branch above. “I see why it may make you want to tear out your hair. I assumed so much general knowledge.”

“It was probably reasonable at the time,” Sascha said diplomatically, though she’d been known to want to throw said book across the room.

“I don’t know.” Alice wrapped her arms around herself, but her expression remained open. “It was my first book. I probably didn’t distill my original thesis down as neatly as I could have.” She went as if to run her hand through her hair, paused. “Drat. I keep forgetting my hair’s got to grow back. I feel like a damn skinny hedgehog.”

Sascha had the sense she was seeing a glimpse of the real Alice Eldridge for the first time. A smart woman with a self-deprecating sense of humor that invited the listener to laugh with her. “You’re lovely.” Too thin, yes, but with incredible bones and lush lips against skin once more kissed by a golden sheen. “Watch out for the wolf males. They’ll probably start doing sneaky things like bringing you food, and you’ll be in a courtship before you know it.”

When Alice’s eyes narrowed, Sascha found the sorrow cloaking the world hadn’t stolen her ability to laugh, to live this life she’d been given. “It’s started already?”

“I was wondering at the sudden surge of interest in my favorite meals.” The other woman’s exasperated smile faded into raw grief. “For me,” she whispered, “it wasn’t over a hundred years ago. It was yesterday. And yesterday I had parents and friends and a career. Yesterday, I loved a powerful, tormented man who’d been my childhood playmate and who broke my heart to splinters.”

“Alice.” Sascha closed her hand over the other woman’s shoulder in silent comfort.

The scientist didn’t shrug it off. “I’ve had flashes where I think I can remember my research”—husky voice, careful words—“but nothing concrete yet.” She turned to face Sascha. “I’d like to go to New York.”

Sascha stopped walking. “Are you sure?” This was one response for which she hadn’t been prepared. “It’s bound to be dangerous.”

“I’m not worried about danger, Sascha. I’m not even worried about dying. I’m worried I’ll never live again if I don’t start soon.”